A Woman of Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  A Woman of Love

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Lady Annabel Peters sat in the open-top carriage and realized she had left it too late. She should have escaped yesterday.

  “Really, Annabel, I don’t want you to give your left eye. All I’m asking is that you go in there and do what comes naturally.” Lord Elliott Peters, her husband of two months, sat opposite her, smoothing his waistcoat against his flat, toned abdomen. A lock of blond hair fell across his brow, accentuating his startling blue eyes. He claimed all he had to do was crook his finger, and besotted society women swooned, but she couldn’t imagine it. His grotesque personality obliterated any physical beauty he possessed.

  The warm summer breeze touched her face. She inhaled the scent of grass and honeysuckle. Frogs sang somewhere in the distance, and crickets chirped, a sure sign it was going to be a warm night. She looked out at the passing Berkshire countryside, and wondered how anything this ugly could happen on such a perfect summer evening.

  “It is not natural for a married woman to bed a man who is not her husband.” She struggled to breathe; a vise tightened around her chest.

  “You must be joking. Women do it all the time. That’s how they entertain themselves. You didn’t believe we would be faithful to each other for the rest of our lives, did you? What a ridiculous notion.”

  The thought of copulating with Elliott was horrific enough. Now he wanted her to sleep with his friends, too. Bile rose in her throat at the idea of having to endure another man like her husband. He was totally amoral and thought nothing of sleeping with a friend’s wife.

  A Woman of Love

  by

  Marlow Kelly

  Honour, Love, and Courage Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Woman of Love

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Margaret Marlow

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Tea Rose Edition, 2015

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-829-7

  Honour, Love, and Courage Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my husband and children,

  thank you for your patience and understanding.

  Chapter One

  Victorian England, 1858

  Lady Annabel Peters sat in the open-top carriage and realized she had left it too late. She should have escaped yesterday.

  “Really, Annabel, I don’t want you to give your left eye. All I’m asking is that you go in there and do what comes naturally.” Lord Elliott Peters, her husband of two months, sat opposite her, smoothing his waistcoat against his flat, toned abdomen. A lock of blond hair fell across his brow, accentuating his startling blue eyes. He claimed all he had to do was crook his finger, and besotted society women swooned, but she couldn’t imagine it. His grotesque personality obliterated any physical beauty he possessed.

  The warm summer breeze touched her face. She inhaled the scent of grass and honeysuckle. Frogs sang somewhere in the distance, and crickets chirped, a sure sign it was going to be a warm night. She looked out at the passing Berkshire countryside, and wondered how anything this ugly could happen on such a perfect summer evening.

  “It is not natural for a married woman to bed a man who is not her husband.” She struggled to breathe; a vise tightened around her chest.

  “You must be joking. Women do it all the time. That’s how they entertain themselves. You didn’t believe we would be faithful to each other for the rest of our lives, did you? What a ridiculous notion.”

  The thought of copulating with Elliott was horrific enough. Now he wanted her to sleep with his friends, too. Bile rose in her throat at the idea of having to endure another man like her husband. He was totally amoral, and thought nothing of sleeping with a friend’s wife. He undoubtedly took pleasure in it. He never controlled his lust. If he saw a woman he wanted, he took her by any means possible.

  What would it be like to give in to desire whenever it suited? To enjoy the pleasure of bedding a handsome man on a whim, and to hell with the consequences, a man with a soft touch and kisses that ignited the senses. She almost laughed at her own folly. Men like that didn’t exist. They were make-believe, something a young girl would conjure in a dream while she drifted off to sleep. She needed to deal with the hard reality that her husband had sold her to a man as unscrupulous as himself.

  They stopped in front of a well-lit manor house. The illumination of the residence contrasted sharply with the darkness of the surrounding grounds. There were no sounds of human habitation, no footsteps, nor voices, nothing except frogs, crickets, the twittering of birds, and the rustle of the summer breeze in the trees.

  She shuddered. What kind of a man lived in such a forbidding house? More importantly, what kind of a man wanted to use another man’s wife?

  “Didn’t we promise to forsake all others?” she said, trying one final attempt to reason with her husband.

  “That’s what people say at weddings. They don’t mean it.”

  “I meant it.”

  Elliott sucked in a deep breath, and then released it through pursed lips. Spots of colour rose on his cheeks. He pointed a manicured finger at her.

  “You didn’t marry me for love. There were other factors, so this is how it’s going to be. You will go in there and bed James Drake. I don’t care if you enjoy it, but for God’s sake don’t be frigid. The fact is I lost at cards, and I owe that man money. He has agreed to forgive the loan in exchange for a night with my wife. If you don’t fulfill your obligations, there will be consequences.”

  At the mention of consequences, Annabel immediately thought of Beth and quickly pushed the idea aside. If Elliott saw any weakness, he would pounce.

  Before she could utter another word he grabbed her and flung her from the carriage. She landed in a heap in front of the house. Sharp gravel dug into the soft flesh of her palms.

  “Oh my, did you trip?” Elliott said in a loud voice, feigning concern. He climbed out of the landau, grabbed her arms, and yanked her to her feet, digging his fingers into her shoulders. His hard, cold eyes narrowed into small slits. “Understand this, you little hussy. If you mess this up there will be a cost. Remember the reason you married me.”

  He shoved her toward the door. “Driver, let’s go.” He climbed aboard, and rode away.

  Annabel stared at the manor house. She could walk away. No, she couldn’t. She had to return to the house in Windsor, and escape from there. But if she made her way back on her own, perhaps she could…She took one step and then jumped when a strong hand grabbed her by the arm.

  She swung around, and came face to face with a demon
. He was tall, and broad with long, black hair, a bushy beard, and a scar that traversed his right cheek, narrowly missing his eye. Shadows darkened his face with stark lines making him look like a man who had come straight from hell. She straightened her spine. He was a man, plain and simple. Not a demon, and certainly not from hell. She needed to keep her whimsical thoughts at bay, so she could form a plan.

  “Have you changed your mind regarding our rendezvous?” His soft-spoken, polite manner seemed strangely at odds with his appearance.

  “I-I never agreed to…” She licked her lips. Why was her mouth so dry? Had his intense gaze turned her into a blathering nitwit?

  He clasped her hands, enfolding them in his warm touch. “You have a graze here. Did you fall?” He kissed each palm in turn, his warm breath making her quiver deep in her belly. She wrenched her hands away. Good God. Was she so starved for affection a simple touch could kindle her passion? Yes, she was. It had been years since a man had caressed her with anything close to tenderness. And even longer since she had wrapped her legs around him, and urged him to take her.

  He stood back and grinned. Could he read her thoughts? Her face heated in response. Did he know the effect he had on her? She suspected he did.

  “Come, you’re shivering. I’ll warm you.” He took her hand in his, and led her toward the door.

  Images of being wrapped in his arms burned through her mind, unbidden. He guided her into the house, his warm touch awaking a primitive need she would rather let sleep. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. My husband told me but—”

  “Drake, James Drake, and you’re Annabel.”

  The door closed behind her, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose in response. James Drake was more dangerous than her husband would ever be.

  Chapter Two

  Maneuvering Peters into having his wife pay his debts had been easy. He had counted on the bastard to care more about money than his personal relationships. Of course, James had no intention of compromising her. He only wanted her alone for questioning. Hopefully, she would be forthcoming, and he wouldn’t have to resort to intimidation.

  He led her to the library. Three of the four walls were lined with shelves, crammed with books. It smelled of old, musty paper, but it was the only room in the house, other than the bedroom, that contained furniture.

  “Take a seat.” He pointed to his old, leather couch, then carried the oil lamp from the stone mantelpiece and put it on the small table next to her. She clamped her arms around her body. Her large, oval eyes stared at the light, mesmerized by the small dancing flame. She reminded him of the refugees he’d seen when he served in the Crimea, giving the impression of a woman whose world had collapsed around her. Something in his chest twisted. He wondered if she was more a victim than he had assumed.

  In the flicker of lamplight her eyes looked dark, but every now and then he caught a glimpse of a lighter shade. Were they blue or green? Wisps of hair, the colour of honey, escaped their pins and trailed down her neck beckoning him to trace the strands with his lips. Damn, he might have become an animal, but there were limits to his depravity. He would not coerce a woman into his bed, wouldn’t touch her, kiss her, and he certainly wouldn’t make love to her. He needed her cooperation and honesty and couldn’t be distracted by a pretty face with sad eyes.

  Removing his handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at the small scratches on her palms. “You’re hurt.”

  His touch startled her. She tucked her hands into small tight fists and stood. “There’s no need to coddle me. I’m not a child. Why don’t you show me to the bedroom? That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it?” Her eyes narrowed, and her body stiffened.

  “I thought we might talk first.”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  “You don’t have to…” He wanted to reassure her, to make her understand he wasn’t going to take advantage of her. But he stopped talking when she sat down, and lifted her skirts to reveal her long legs. Legs that were hidden by white cotton pantaloons that came to below her knee. Woolen stockings covered the remaining leg. She bent, and started to undo her boots. Plain, brown, practical boots. He didn’t know much about fashion, but even he knew they didn’t match her ornate blue and cream gown. Why didn’t she wear more feminine footwear? He started to ask, but stopped, dumbstruck when she loosened the garters that held her stockings in place, and let the small ribbons fall to the ground.

  His body jerked in reaction. The last four years had been a nightmare where he had lost his soul in the suffering of war. What better way to dispel his grief and pain than spend the night with a beautiful, willing woman. But was she willing? Was this what she wanted or had she been pressured?

  Stunned by her forwardness and beauty, he stared, open-mouthed. His body grew rigid. He wanted to ignore his scruples, and bury himself in her. He closed his eyes, trying to gain control of his reactions. Bloody hell. He was a grown man, who had seen a woman’s legs before. He opened his eyes in time to see her remove her stockings. “I really think you should—”

  “Go to your bedroom.” She stood up, hands on hips, evidently issuing a challenge.

  His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Why had she…he couldn’t complete the thought. He stepped closer intending to force her to sit. Instead he cupped her face, and pressed his lips to hers. She seemed startled by his kiss. He knew how she felt. He hadn’t meant to kiss her but couldn’t resist, couldn’t stop. He didn’t force her. He needed to know if she was willing. He wanted her to come to him because she desired him, not because her husband had told her to.

  Gradually, her tongue slid between his lips to explore his mouth. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and drew him closer, her body melded to his. He reciprocated, exploring her, letting her know how she aroused him. He wanted this more than he should. He wanted to overlook the reasons he had manipulated her husband and release the beast he knew lived in his soul.

  He jerked away. “You don’t have to do this. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want. I won’t lay a finger on you and I will consider the debt paid. Do you understand?”

  There, he’d given her a chance to walk away, but that was the only one she would get. She froze. Her eyes widened. She bit her lip, then using her fingertip, traced the scar on his cheek. A small smile curved her lips, her mouth almost touching his. “Kiss me again.”

  Without hesitation his mouth crushed hers, letting her know exactly what to expect if she went to bed with him. He would try and be gentle, but he had no intention of being a gentleman. His tongue plunged between her lips and joined with hers. His hands roamed her body, but with her stays and layers of petticoats he couldn’t feel her. Damn, he wanted to touch her, cup her breasts, and feel her bottom in his palms. He released her, wanting her out of her clothes now, immediately.

  Without a word he picked up the lamp, and taking her hand in his, he led her through the darkened house to his bedroom.

  ****

  Annabel clasped James’ warm hand as if it were a lifeline. Dust permeated the air, drying on her tongue. This house was definitely not a home. She wondered why he lived this way. He had a large, beautiful mansion and yet it was devoid of human warmth and comfort. A lonely place that suited its owner. Not that you could tell that much about a person from their residence. She lived in a house that held all the trappings of wealth and comfort, yet it would always be her prison.

  Her decision to bed James stunned her, leaving her shocked, and exhilarated at the same time. She craved his touch and his kisses. A woman could drown in the lust those kisses implied. She wanted a night of passion, a time to forget her fears. She needed to lose herself in the carnality of desire, and experience the pleasure of his touch, and his length within her, driving her, making her feel wanted and loved.

  When he kissed her she was bonded to him, connected to him by an invisible thread. Hah, what a ridiculous idea. That was her childish imagination, because she knew he didn’t care. How could he when he didn’
t know her? But if she was to allow herself this indulgence, then she must imagine he did love her and there was affection behind his touch.

  He was a dangerous man. Of that, she had no doubt. Dangerous and gentle. What would it be like to be loved by such a man? Her own husband treated her as if she were a handkerchief, something to be used and then discarded. Would James Drake cherish the woman he loved? Would he touch her with tenderness? Would he see to her pleasure? She hoped so.

  With Elliott, lovemaking was an act of domination, something he employed to let her know she was there for his use. To remind her he had Beth, and therefore he controlled her. But James wasn’t Elliott. He had shown her more tenderness in their short time together than her husband had in the last two months.

  But he was a friend of Elliott’s. Her husband was a man who used her to achieve his own ends. She had to assume James would too, if she allowed him.

  She would have a few hours of pleasure. A few hours to put the pain and suffering of the past two months out of her mind. Then once everything was done, and they had shared each other’s bodies and found satisfaction, she hoped he would roll over and go to sleep. Then she could escape.

  Chapter Three

  Annabel stood by the large bay window, staring out at the blackness. Was she really going to do this? Could she let go and enjoy the moment?

  “Tell me what you want.” He stood behind her. His breath brushed her neck, and his beard tickled her shoulder sending shivers careening down her spine.

  “I want to forget. I want to lose myself in—”

  “All right.” He laid small kisses below her ear, and down to the base of her throat. She wanted to lean back, so he would hold her, but resisted the impulse. This was all happening too fast, and yet there was something about him. He radiated power and strength.

  “Do you want this?” He continued to kiss down her neck to the hollow of her throat. There it was again—that tug to her heart.